Find The River
by Ananke
Summary: Original Endgame timeline, Chakotay...


Note: Response to lyrics challenge, lyrics by REO Speedwagon, Find The River. Disclaimer: Star Trek: Voyager and all related characters owned by Paramount Studios. No copyright infringement intended.  
  


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But I tell you and you can see/We're closer now than light years to go...  
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You enjoy the darkness of a void, and there's no better place to take in the view than the Astrometrics lab. She doesn't come here, the Captain.  
  
She hasn't come here in more than thirteen years.  
  
The seat you took more than two hours ago seems welded to your old and weary back, and you think to rise...soon. The word is one of the few that draws genuine amusement from any of the crew these days. They've all stopped minding the years passing by.  
  
At times it comes far too easily, a secret desire that it would end...the journey, your existence. You have no preference for order. Soon, either way, you believe there will finally be peace to be found in fate.  
  
"Chakotay."  
  
There is no moonlight here, no starlight to be seen. Framed in garish corridor lighting, she looks as battered and faded as you sometimes feel. A voice once suggestive of sultry old screen divas and rough wine suddenly grates more than it ever has.  
  
You try not to pity her; pity isn't something Kathryn Janeway understands.  
  
"Kathryn."  
  
There are no doubtful actions by now, in scarce seconds purposeful strikes carry her beyond an imaginary force field, to your side.  
  
"Is there a special occasion, Captain?" You ask, with only the smallest hint of sarcasm.  
  
She plows on, one hand propped on hip, the other wringing your bad shoulder. "Tom believes we may be able to navigate out of this..." The hand thankfully lifts away, waving to the view port in bitter acknowledgment. "...void...within the week."  
  
Paris is losing his touch along with his hair; thirteen years ago he could have...had...done the same in under a day.  
  
A day had been too long for your wife.  
  
You forcibly dismiss memories, turning attention back to the here and now. "Then we should be capable of reestablishing communications with Command."  
  
"Precisely, Commander," White slivered hair bounces as her head is thrown back, teeth gleaming against darkness in a smile. You reach up to touch a flyaway strand, caressing it absently between thumb and index finger. The texture is wheat, dead...the color of mother's milk.  
  
A hand covers your own, pulling it away gently, her head shakes again.  
  
"Good."  
  
"If we can arrange to integrate the new transwarp technology we were briefed on during the last data stream transmission we should be on our way...home situation considered, I recommend that we head for the Gamma Quadrant and proceed to Earth at normal warp speed from there...Chakotay, talk to me."  
  
The puzzlement on her face can't erase the lack of focus in blue eyes...or focus elsewhere. Victory is so close Kathryn can taste it; you've come to recognize the symptoms over more than twenty-three years. "I'm happy for you."  
  
You are, in a certain sense, happy for her and amazed that such anticipation is still possible for any member of Voyager's crew.  
  
"And not for yourself?"  
  
There can be no answer to that.  
  
She nods and then her gaze centers again, eyes swiveling to take in your surroundings. "Why are you here, Chakotay?"  
  
You couldn't put it to proper wordage, couldn't expect a woman like Janeway to understand the invisible cords that bind you to this dark, rarely used hole. You couldn't expect her to understand that here and only here, Seven lingers still. That this was hers, that this grants you peace.  
  
So you smile to reassure the Captain, letting the brief glint outwardly belay wear and tear and numbness. "It's quiet here, Kathryn."  
  
Her eyes are sharp, tones piercing. "Perhaps," A hand winds around the door frame, and she looks back one last time, for once sadness edging bright eyes. "The Doctor seems to have lost all record of your last several physicals in the recent outage. Stop by when you have time."  
  
You smile again.  
  
-  
  
There was a rumor that the Golden Gate had gone.  
  
You are relieved to see otherwise, face pressed against shuttle glass like a small boy, eyes drinking in sweeping curves and sharp lines and jagged breaks. Near one end rails and girder are broken; you silently motion for Paris to glide over the area.  
  
"We'll have to turn back soon, you know we aren't supposed to be doing this and I'm not sure how long the Admiral can keep the security grid offline..."  
  
You mostly ignore the lecturing tones, a prematurely creased hand raising for silence. "Can you make a landing without structural integrity failing completely?"  
  
"It isn't structural integrity the grid is for; it's to keep out the loonies with ideas of suicide...Chakotay, what the hell are you up to?"  
  
He was always too smart, Tom Paris. You grunt. "Just pull over and let me out, Paris. Come along if you like."  
  
He considers, fingers combing through chin stubble. "All right, have it your way."  
  
The first touch of foot to girder is strange, even through soft moccasin implacable cold and strength rise up to meet you. Your pilot puts his craft in park and prepares to step out the hatch; you lift a hand to halt him midway, weak fingers curling around bony shoulder.  
  
"I just changed my mind, Paris. You're still too heavy."  
  
He draws back, stiffens, mouth parting as icy eyes flicker with dormant memory, and then grins, dipping head in taciturn agreement before turning back.  
  
You scarcely hear the hatch shut again and shuttle hum to life, the wind is a siren, cacophony of city sound and nature blending. And then he's gone, and you briefly wonder what outrageous explanation he'll have in hand for Kathryn, but then the bay glints and pushes such worries away.  
  
You swam in it once during Academy dare days, when you were young and arrogant and didn't believe in things called responsibility and regulation.  
  
Seven crosses your mind again at that, not Seven of loose hair and burgeoning stomach as you loved her, but Seven of Borg pride and determination, and the dam bursts, rage and grief and laughter, above all laughter.  
  
You fall, and let her strength carry you away.  
  
--- 


End file.
